


Life Isn't A Fairy Tale

by freakypet



Series: A Bird's eye view of Life in the Apocalypse [2]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But we love him for it, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, F/M, Jealousy, Let's face it he will always be an asshole, Love my Rednecks, Merle Dixon Being an Asshole, Misunderstandings, Of Course a Happy Ending!, Swearing, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 10:25:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15579903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakypet/pseuds/freakypet
Summary: Sequel to 'She Bends But Does Not Break' - Join Wren and Merle again in a little snippet of their lives after we left them in SBBDNB.~Life truly isn't a Fairy Tale and especially so in the Zombie Apocalypse. And Happily Ever Afters only happen in Fairy Tales, don't they.~Misunderstandings and jealousy aren't the only things that come between our lovers. Will they survive this next threat? Will their love?  ~( For those like me that hate cryptic summaries like the one above - Wren and Merle are torn apart by the arrival of Negan and His Saviours. Now it's up to Wren to save the day.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got writer's block in the multichapter Khan/OC I am writing so I decided to go relax and have a read.
> 
> Only to find my Poor Merle being cast as the bad guy. Suddenly, this story was screaming at me to write it, so I bashed it out this weekend and viola! 
> 
> I truly hope it's in the same vein as SBBDNB and just as enjoyable - be sure to let me know what you think! Apologies if its shite :D
> 
> ~~ Now Important Disclaimer - I haven't watched TWD pretty much after Terminus, so this will definitely NOT be canon although I have taken elements from bits I have seen and read everywhere - let's face it, TWD spoilers are hard to miss. It's all writer's licence from here on in, so if you read something and go "hey! That's not how THAT happened" or "this timeline is all screwy, dammit!!" you'd be right, so sit back and just enjoy the ride - mwah! ~~

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is gained other than enjoyment in the writing and treating the characters waaay better than their real owners ever did. Maybe. Sort of. Oh shut up and go read the story :D

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn't that Wren hated the parties and gatherings that occurred often between the various settlements, it was just that she felt edgy and twitchy from all the noise and bustle and people that *came* with the parties.

But Merle on the other hand, well he loved them! The chance to drink and socialize with the many sister-towns? Hell yeah he was in!

For Merle, being accepted into this new Apocalyptic Society was a heady thing for the redneck whose life Before had been one of a definite ‘wrong side of the law’ and “Not Decent Society”. Going from societal reject to somewhat a Welcomed Big Man On Campus was a huge change for the Redneck. He had gotten a taste of it at Woodbury, but there it had been tinged with fear and still held a level of isolation from the ‘regular/good’ everyday folks.

So Wren didn’t hold him back and dutifully came along. She loved watching him as he reveled in his new found popularity. So she focussed on her HillBill and endured the gatherings.

Merle wasn’t as stupid as many used to think and some still did. He knew what his Wren did and he loved her even more for it. Between Daryl and himself, she was never alone and after almost 2 years both brothers could read the tiny woman like a neon sign.

So when someone asked Merle to come and help them with their still, Wren was fine to climb down off her redneck lover’s back and clamber up onto the bleacher seat next to Daryl, who threw an affectionate arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a side hug.

As the sky darkened and the food was starting to be uncovered, Daryl scanned the group for his older sibling and cursed softly. Wren chuckled her husky laugh and pinched her friend’s side causing him to yelp and swat at her hands. Glaring in mock anger, he shoved Wren away and strode easily down the bleacher seats with an evil grin thrown over his shoulder at her. Her almost silent laughter cut off and she scowled at the retreating man as it was his turn to laugh. He knew she hated the fact that she was so tiny and both the Dixons so much taller and longer than her that things they did with ease were often a scramble for Wren.

Her good mood soured at little as she jumped and climbed down with not a 10th the ease Daryl had done until she was finally caught up to the still laughing asshole. Tucking her hand into the back pocket of his jeans and allowing Daryl to again pull her in with an arm across her shoulders, they headed off into the crowd.

Pushing though the surprisingly large mass of people - everyone from the 5 settlements who had been free had come it appeared, Wren could feel herself tensing up and Daryl’s hand stoked down her back soothingly as he maneuvered them around clumps of loud people. Wren tucked herself in tighter to Daryl and felt the smile drop from her face completely now.

Daryl, ever watchful of his brother’s love, leant down to speak reassuringly.  
“Ya know what hes doin, huh.” And shook his head with a rueful quirk of his lips and Wren felt her crooked one sided smile creep back. Nodding at Daryl she rolled her eyes and also shook her head with a chuckle.

“HillBill’s doing more than ‘helping’ that still”

The two friends shared a grin and at that very moment a booming bragging voice erupted from the large group of mainly men at the side of the Party and both Daryl and Wren laughed. Yep, definite sounds of one Merle Dixon ‘helping’ with a moonshine still - by lightening it a couple of pints.

Daryl was halfway through pushing them through the crowd when he suddenly paused and faltered.  
Alarmed, Wren looked up and then around, wondering what had caused that look of disbelief, uncertainty and a growing sense of anger. But she couldn't see anything that might have caused it.  
Daryl had stopped working them through the crowd and was now leading them out the side and Wren could hear him mutter about getting his stupid ass brother some food first. When Wren caught the look he threw someone behind them, she pulled back and Daryl took a step before he realised she had stopped. Wren glanced back at the sound of her Dixon bragging loudly about something or other- some run they did a few months ago she thought- and turned back to see Daryl chewing on his thumbnail. A coldness seemed to settle in Wren's’ belly at the sight of that tell and as she stood there, she could feel the icy fingers creeping outwards over her body.

Daryl, his eyes hooded and worried, just stood there looking at Wren. Seeming to decide something, he reached out to pull her in but she stepped away dodging the hand. Ignoring his too casual suggestion to grab food, she turned back to the now obviously drunk group of men and cursed her shortness. It was clear Daryl had seen something and Wren’s heart stuttered in fear. Her forehead creased in confusion at her unknown fear, at Daryl's weirdness.

She forced frozen limbs to move, pushing past bodies and ducking limbs and cups of alcohol until she could see she was nearly through the crowd. Above her the chatter of happily buzzed people filled the air, laughter and talking dancing around the sound of Merle’s deep familiar voice. But for some reason sounds were becoming muffled and Wren realised that she was panting hard as though she had just escaped a herd of fresh walkers. She could feel hands grabbing at her and she shook off Daryl's grip as she finally burst through the crowd.

And her world crashed.

A huge silver still stood on a purpose built porch with stacks of pallets of jars piled neatly around. A long table covered with mason jars and mugs and glasses stood to the side and there were benches scattered around.

But what had caught Wren’s attention wasn't the festive party goers or the bar setup.

It was Merle Dixon, lounging in one of the few ‘proper’ chairs, his bladed prosthesis holding a ginormous mason jar - nearly empty - and his other hand tucked around and up under the shirt of a tall blond woman. A tall blond woman who was currently also lounging across Merle’s lap with her arms wrapped around Her HillBills neck and apparently whispering something in his ear. Something that made him throw his head back and roar with laughter.

Something that made Wren feel like someone had just stabbed her in the center of her chest.

Darkness spun crazily at the edges of her vision and spots danced wildly across the middle and Wren realised with a sudden burning gasp she had stopped breathing. Beside her she could feel Daryl trying to pull her away but it was like her feet were encased in concrete.

Her entire body felt numb as she watched the woman wiggle her ass into Merle’s lap and Merle continued talking loudly to the men around him.

Suddenly everything snapped back as Daryl physically picked up the diminutive woman and took two steps back into the crowd.

Black smashed to red and Wren felt pure lava hot heat scorch through the freezing numbness.

That was the woman from the group Merle and some others had rescued from some settlement 2 days travel away. The woman that had always pissed Wren off whenever they came to Kingdom because she would coo and flirt with Merle even with Wren standing **right there**. Merle who always told Wren that the woman didn't mean nothing by it, she was just being friendly and appreciative. The woman that had caused a nasty fight between the two hot headed survivors.

And it appeared she was _Very appreciative_ it seemed as Wren watched the woman whisper in Merle’s ear, Wren now close enough to see her full lips caressing the shell of his ear.

Wren didn't even realise she had fought out of Daryl hold until she was crouching over the woman as she lay on the ground with Wren’s knife at her throat and her knee firmly on the woman’s chest-bone. Teeth drawn back in a feral snarl she stared down into terrified eyes as Wren’s entire body shook with the need to hurt this creature beneath her. Movement beside her caused her to flinch and dig the blade in, drawing blood and whimpers both and causing everything around to freeze into stillness.

Casting a look out the side of her eye, Wren watched as Merle stood a few feet away, his now sober eyes meeting hers as he held his arms out placatingly, his mouth forming words her ears couldn't hear through the rushing of rage and grief. Below her she could feel the woman shaking but her attention was on the man who had just stomped her heart. His face was simultaneously flushed red from the alcohol and drained white from the shock of Wren’s attack. Merle bent a little at the waist, trying to keep Wren’s gaze but she couldn’t stop her eyes from darting past him, the sight too much to bear.

Feeling a movement below, Wren glanced down to see the woman sobbing, rare makeup streaming messily across her once beautifully made up face. A flash of movement caused Wren to crouch deeper and dig the blade in further, feeling skin give easily under the rapier sharp metal. The men who had attempted to rush her froze in fear. Another move like that and Wren's knife would do actual damage. Feeling the skin crawling sensation of being hunted, Wren scanned around her, taking in the entire situation in mere seconds.

Merle was easing forward, his deep voice still not cutting through the haze. Daryl was on her other side, his own weapon raised but pointing to the group of people behind them, obviously holding them back from jumping Wren.

The smell of warm urine flooded Wren's nose as the creature under Wren’s knee wailed softly. But it was Rick appearing suddenly, kneeling down right in front of her that caught her attention. Blue eyes locked onto hers and he bowed lower to look her straight in her face.

Slowly the sound of his calming voice pierced the thrumming in her ears.

“...so just gimme the knife Wrennie-hun. For me? Sweetie? Gimme the knife Wren.”

Vaguely she watched as Rick reached over and simply took the blade from her hand as though picking up dinner silverware from the table. Her now slack fingers simply let go as his blue eyes kept hers locked to him. The next second she was being yanked harshly off the terrified woman and was thrown hard onto the ground, her face slamming into the hard packed earth as her arms were wrenched cruelly up behind her back.

Wrong move.

Even though it was only a second or two, even though the Dixons were both there within heartbeats to haul off the furious companions off their woman, it was too much for the damaged Wren.

Barely had the weight started to be lifted off Wren than she was already clawing her way hysterically away. A hand on her ankle - stranger or Dixon she was no longer sanely conscious - caused her to lash out a foot as she whipped out another blade from her back harness and flipped upright.  
Slashing as she spun, she felt the blade part nothing but air. Falling to a crouch, wide wild eyes scanned the mob surrounding her and she searched desperately for an escape. Slashing at any movement close to her, she finally saw her chance.

So deep into her mind she was unable to hear her family surrounding her. Daryl and Merle both attempting to get close but held back by worry and blade. Rick and Ezekiel were shouting orders into the crowd gaining control of the masses surprisingly quickly.

All she saw was the small gap that she knew was her chance. Merle, knowing his Wren, knew the second before she moved what she had planned. He leapt at her moments after her own leap.

And he caught her jacket.

But it wasn't soon or quick enough.

The feral woman simply slipped from the canvas covering even as her feet found purchase on one of the silver arms of the still. As people watched in shock, in 3 moves Wren was up and over the still, one swing onto the porch roof and she was gone.

Moonshine singing in his veins, Merle wasn't as fast as his brother in following Wren, only they went around the small building instead of over. Where Wren had simply to go up over and down, the Dixons had to race around several obstacles before they burst through the shrubs behind the still. But they were too late.

Wren was gone and in the now fallen night light, there was no tracking her.

She wasn't there when Daryl slammed a furious fist into his brother’s face or when Rick and Ezekiel had pulled the raging younger Dixon off the older. She wasn't there when her friends and family desperately searched for her all night.  
Nor was she there when Michonne stormed up to the woman and slapped her hard across the face or when Michonne then did the same thing to Merle.

She wasn’t there to hear Daryl yell his fury and rage at his brother or to hear Merle’s raging back.

Or to see the look of despair on her lover’s face when he sobered up and realized what had happened.

He was a fucking dumbass and he knew it.

 

  
The party had wound down soon after that, the air no longer one of frivolity or merriment.

Groups gathered to search out the missing woman but she remained missing long after the sun had risen again.

  
After Wren had scaled the small building, she had sprinted off into the darkness, her mind completely shut down and she was nothing more than instinct. Get away, get away from the pain, hide hide.

So she ran. She climbed and squeezed and crawled until she was far away from the sounds and smells of people altogether.

She also wasn’t there when the next day came and The Kingdom was attacked by The Saviours.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It was the smell of burning buildings that finally caught Wren’s attention.

She had bunkered down in the top of a tall tree and wept her anguish until she fell into sleep. The day she spent in the welcoming quiet of the forest, scavenging food and avoiding or killing walkers she came across. The next night she returned to her tree, but now she could feel the pain and fury receding a little and questions started to grow. How could he do this? Why? Wren knew she was damaged, she knew that she was fucked up but Merle had always assured her that to him she was perfect. Had he been lying this whole time? Or was it something she couldn’t or wasn’t giving him? Then the rage would swell back and she would picture herself stabbing him in his remaining hand to show him the pain he had poured into her shattered heart.

It was late that second day when she smelt the smoke. Scaling the tree right up to the top, hanging on like a demented monkey to the swaying limbs, she saw with a spike of terror that the Settlement she had run from, where so many people had been having a party, was covered in a thick layer of black smoke.   
From her position so high up, she could see the commotion had drawn walkers from far and wide and she cursed herself for being so far into her head that she hadn’t heard anything.

It took her hours to make it back to The Kingdom. So many walkers made it difficult to even move in the trees and Wren resorted to bathing in walker guts after she endured one attack too many.

Finally reaching the gates, she was horrified to see a cobbled together monstrosity that was the remains of a once nearly impenetrable entrance. Walkers pressed to her on all sides, the terror warring with relief as the dangerous contact smeared more covering camouflage on the tiny woman.

The herds were 10 deep around the walls and stretched as far as Wren could see along the fortified walls of The Kingdom. High above on the walls, Wren could see people stabbing down with the long poles in the parts where the herds were too thick and she knew she would have to avoid those if she didn’t want to end up a causality.

Slowly squeezing herself through the rotting cesspools around her, she finally made it to the boarded up gates and stared through, trying to see anyone she knew.

It took an age before she saw Rick stride past, battered and bruised and covered in blood but very much alive. She prayed silently in her mind for the Leader of the Prison to look over, to SEE her but he was focused on his duties and was pointing people here and there.

Desperately, Wren looked up and biting her lip and clenching every single atom of her courage and recklessness to her very soul, she sprang into action.

It only took the dead around her milliseconds to realise she was food, but by then Wren was halfway up the gate. Clawing hands caught her legs and yanked her, the only thing preventing her fall and devouring was the terror strengthened grip she had to the boards above her. More and more hands caught her flailing legs and with a sudden heartstopping realization, she knew that this was where she was going to die.

As the board she clung to finally snapped, she felt her body drop and she screamed, but the sudden slamming stop cut off the scream as well as her fall. Hands above her roughly hauled her up and over the wall, heedless of the scrapes and scratches they caused as she gained in her rescue.

Thrown from the top of the wall, Wren landed hard on the ground below, the jarring fall making her split lip and black eye from her last face-meet-ground session throb painfully. A foot on her back pressed her down into the dirt as the person above hollered for Ezekiel.

It was a furious Rick who shoved the guy off Wren and hauled her up into a breath stealing hug, ignoring the filth covering her. Wren could hear someone shouting for Michonne and moments later another body slammed into them as the woman joined in the fierce embrace.

Just as Wren was starting to feel panicky, Rick let her go and head her out at arm's length. The tears on his face startled Wren. At her look of surprise, Rick shook his head, the smiling joy turning to a mix of anger and relief. MIchonne had other ideas though. She turned Wren to face her, scanned the missing woman from head to toe, hauled her in for another hug, then smacked the back of Wren’s head hard.

Rubbing her stinging scalp, Wren glared at the black woman and pointed silently with her chin at the destruction around them.

Rick’s face immediately blanked and Michonne murmured softly under her breath. Wren’s breath caught and she could feel her eyes widening. Feeling her breath stutter, she looked around warily then more and more worried as she didn’t see the two faces she was searching for.

She figured Merle would avoid her after what had happened, but with the attack, she though that he would at least appear to see if she was alive. But she thought Daryl would have shown for sure.

Raising her voice and squaring her shoulders, she croaked out the question that meant life or death to her. Literally.

“Who died?”

Both Rick and Michonne both knew who she was referring to, so didn’t bother listing any of the other dead. Rick stepped close and grasped Wren’s shoulders.

“They’re alive Wren. They’re alive!” Wren felt the relief zap through her and she beamed up at the former Sheriff. Rick blinked in shock. He had so rarely seen her smile like that and never at him. Fearfully he glanced at Michonne who nodded her support and stepped close to the surprisingly fragile woman.

“But we were attacked by a group called The Saviours. Their leader is a man called Negan and he made a few … demands. In return for his ‘protection’, we have to give him our supplies.” Wren blinked up in shock. A Protection racket in the Apocalypse?

Knowing the worse was to come, she grabbed Rick’s shirt in both foul crusted hands, using him to keep upright as she waited for the sword to fall.

With a bracing breath, Rick looked over her shoulder to his partner.

“Wren. They took some of our people as hostages.”

There. Right there she knew. This Negan bloke had taken her men, her family. Feeling the hands of her friends around her, supporting her, she surprised them by staring up into the eyes of one of the few people she trusted in this world.

“When do we take them back?”

  
Well, that had caused a furious argument. Rick had talked something about gathering strength, healing and planning and a lot of bullshit that Wren refused to listen to. If the words “we roll out to get them back in one hour” didn’t roll off those lips, then nothing was worth hearing.

People who had only ever seen the almost mute woman as a poor waif of a child, clinging to the protection of her big strong protector men, suddenly received a whole new picture. Those that had mocked the others for their telling of the attack at the party now realised that maybe their friends hadn’t been exaggerating.

The fury that held the small being taut was almost visible in its intensity, her raw hoarse voice loud for once as she screamed her rage at the exhausted leaders. It was Michonne standing in front of Rick with her katana raised that was the only reason Wren didn’t attack him with her waving blades.

Bent forward from the sheer force of her scream of defiant rage, Wren finally fell to hands and knees on the ground and wept into the dirt. When kind hands tried to help her rise, she shook them off and clambered up herself.

“Fuck you Rick. Fuck you all.”

And she disappeared into the depths of The Kingdom and Rick knew in that moment, he had lost all that he had gained with her over the past 19 months of life at the prison.

  
When they couldn’t find Wren later that day, they didn’t worry too much. Wren could look after herself, despite what most people thought. When they couldn’t find her the next day as the Prison group made to roll out home, they worried.

Right up until Maggie came running up with a note she had found stabbed to her back door.

 

_Rick,_

_I have to go. You know this. Don’t look for me. I’ll find you._

_W_

 

And Michonne held her lover as he wept in privacy.

 


	3. Chapter 3

It took Wren a week to finally find this ‘saviours’ settlement. In an old tire factory it looked like, with walkers chained and impaled to the fences and guards everywhere. Another week of studying and Wren finally found a weakness. This ‘Negan’ was good, very good. No regular routes or times of shifts, always alert guards. She watched as rough looking groups came and went easily, obviously raiding other places by the truckloads of supplies that they kept bringing back in.

But she finally recognised the regular guards and saw that while the shifts and routes changed, the guards themselves weren’t so well trained. Like all humans, the guards had their own routines and stuck to them like glue.

So it was that Wren was able to exploit. It took only a matter of scaling a wall or two and slipping down into a spinning vent pipe and she was behind enemy lines.

Working her way very slowly through the now unused ducting system, Wren listened and learnt.

The building she finally found herself in was some kind of women’s housing. Several women lay around dressed in flimsy lingerie and bare feet, reading magazines and eating from platters.

Wren couldn’t understand what the hell was going on.

Until some handsome man in black leather came swanning in with a barb wire wrapped baseball bat and a slimy grin.

She froze and listened and learnt.

At one point she thought she was caught when Negan had stood under the vent she was hiding in and asked if the guard outside the door needed to fucking bathe and found her heart in her throat as she watched him briefly look around for the source of the stench that was 2 week old walker guts on her.

She had found a forgotten water tank on the roof and had soaked the filth off before sneaking back down into the vents.

Vents in a factory were a marvelous thing. They went everywhere, were generally wide enough for someone as dainty as Wren and stable as rock for the most part.

She was able to find the kitchen vents, which were being used so had to dodge a few working fan blades, but she was able to steal enough food to last her a while. And laughed silently to herself when someone else was accused of stealing the food and beaten.

She learnt that Negan had also attacked the Prison only a few days ago and that it sounded like one of the kids - and she prayed it wasn’t who it sounded like - had lost an eye.

And still she couldn’t figure out where her boys were.

Oh, she knew they were here. She had had to drive the tip of her knife into her leg to stop her from dropping out of the vent and stabbing Negan when she had heard him laughing about Merle and Daryl. She also cursed herself when she found that he had taken Sasha as well and had silently wept when she heard him raging at the dead woman after her zombification trick.

Then she lucked out.

Following Dwight with the scarred face was harder than she planned after she heard the order to get Daryl. But eventually she found a vent that overlooked the courtyard and watched, tears running down her face as she saw him, pale and weak, being dragged and thrown at the feet of Negan and his evil bat.

Wren couldn’t hear anything being so high up, which was a good thing in return, as she nearly didn’t hold back her scream when the group descended on Daryl and beat the living daylights out of the already weakened Dixon. She was sobbing wildly by the time they finished and dragged off the unconscious (not dead, not dead, he wasn’t allowed to be dead) man. That little example showed clearly why he was in the condition he was. She stayed there long after the sun set and the saviours had settled down for the night hoping to see Her Dixon, the one her literal heart hurt to see.

After that, she focussed all her attentions to finding them. And finally after 2 days of careful looking, she found them.

She watched as the morning guard brought Daryl back from cleaning duties and pushed him in before locking the door with a laugh. Positioning herself down for the day, she gnawed on her thumbnail, a habit picked up directly from her Daryl, as she watched the cells like a hawk.

As evening fell, Negan showed and entered the cell next to Daryl’s, one Wren had hoped held her Dixon. She waited, her heart pounding in her chest for what seemed like an eternity until the Saviors Leader left the cell, fury on every inch of his body and blood on every inch of his bat.

It wasn’t until the moon was high in the sky that night that Wren was finally able to scale the wall and drop down in front of the cells doors.

Silently she worked the lock on Daryl’s cell, knowing for sure he was in there and not wanting to risk opening the other yet.

The cell was completely pitch dark and Wren crouched in the doorway, peering into the smothering black when a broken croak of a voice sounded.

“What the fuck now?”

The defiance Wren could hear on the Dixon’s voice was a balm to her wounded soul she hadn't realized she needed.

Without a thought, she threw herself into the dark and had wrapped her entire body around Daryl's before he was even able to rise off the floor.

She felt him fight back momentarily, ignoring the weak blow to her back she took before he froze and with a muffled sob, he folded around the tiny being.

It took a while before she was able to make out that he was sobbing apologies to her, for the fact that the saviours had got her, he had failed them all, and her heart crumbled at the agony in his voice.

It took her tugging at his greasy hair to get his attention.  
“Where’s Merle?” A sniff and Daryl patted the wall beside him.  
“Next to me, but I aint heard nothin for while now.”

Wren’s world narrowed to a single point. The wall was the one that connected the cell Negan had ‘visited’ earlier.

All emotion fled. All fear, relief, stress, everything. Coldly she asked Daryl if he could walk and ignoring his whispered questions, she supported the weak Dixon to the door. With a look, she lowered Daryl to the floor at the doorway and checked to see if it was still safe. At the sight of an empty hallway, she crept to the other door and within moments had that door open as well.

This time she swung the door all the way open, letting in what little light there was. If her emotions hadn’t shut down before, they would have killed her now.

Laying in a pool of black blood was her HillBill. His face was hidden in the covering shadow, but Wren could see his mangled stump in the bare light, all bloody and looking like mush.

Robotically, Wren stepped over to the still body and stared down. Daryl’s harsh panting at the doorway caused a flicking glance in his direction, but like a magnet drawn to true north, Wren’s eyes were dragged back to the body before her. Starting to feel like she was drifting out of her body, she slowly lowered to her knees and watched as her hand calmly stretched out to lay on the cold skin of his neck. She had kissed that very spot, so long ago, the night before they had gone to The Kingdom, before her world had fallen apart so horribly. But she couldn’t feel anything, no pulse, no breath, so she slowly slid her trailing fingers to his chin and gently swung his face towards her. She nearly didn’t recognise him, he was so battered. If they had beaten Daryl, then they had crushed Merle. She leaned closer and with her other hand, smoothed back his hair. He had been due a haircut for ages and weeks in captivity had allowed the strands to now hang on his forehead. She pushed them back, knowing he would have hated them on his face.

Leaning down, she placed her hand on his chest and rested her forehead on his and simply breathed in his scent that was so uniquely Merle.

She vaguely heard Daryl gag back a sob and knew he had looked in and seen them both. But she couldn’t feel the same. She couldn’t feel anything. It was like she was watching some old TV movie, grainy and colourless and lacking any connection with the viewer.

Hearing Daryl though made her realise that she had to go. She gently stroked both hands down the sides of her beloved’s face and leant down and so so softly placed a kiss to the lips that had worshiped her so often.

And jerked back when the moan brushed foul air across her lips in return. As she stood to flee - she had already decided that she would leave any reanimated Dixons to wreak their last vengeance, she caught a sound that sent a faint shiver over body and mind.

“ ….ennie…”

Daryl was there in a second, almost shoving the robotic woman to the side in his rush to get to his brother.

It was Daryl’s pleading that Merle woke to. Wren heard him groan his brother’s name and tell him to run, to escape, to get away. He was obviously caught in some nightmare, but at Daryl’s pleading look, Wren shook herself and helped the younger Dixon pull the elder Dixon to his feet.

From there it was a blur.

Wren had planned their escaped over and over, using all the various scenarios she could think of, so putting the escape into motion now was as simple as pulling out a plan and slipping it into place.

Whispering to Daryl to carry his brother, she led the way to the garage where the group stored their vehicles, making sure the way was clear. A few times they had to hide back in the shadows, waiting for men to pass or guards to move on. Twice Wren slid up behind unaware men, her knife plunging into neck and throat, or lung and spine. No mercy killings here. Hopefully they would turn and take out a few more of their group, she thought.

Finally she had them next to the truck that had just returned. Not yet unpacked but already refueled, it was the perfect getaway vehicle. Big, fortified and ideal for taking out whatever stood in their way out.

It took all their combined strength to get the now fully unconscious Merle up into the truck bed, and then Daryl needed almost as much assistance as his injuries finally caught up. Wren was shaking badly by the time she dragged the cloth back down to hide the two dead to the world Dixons.

Taking a moment to regain her breath, Wren then made her way to the truck’s cab and climb up, quietly latching the door behind her. The reason she picked this truck, as well as its sheer size and protection it afforded, was the fact that it had been backed in for easy unloading in the morning. That meant that the nose of the truck was pointing towards the first of the exit gates. It would take everything she had, and all the luck the universe owed her to get them out now.

Staring out at the night in front, Wren took a deep breath and wrenched the key in the ignition and the truck roared to life, shattering the silence of the night like a bomb going off.

Slamming her foot to the excelerator, Wren was almost thrown to the floor of the cab as the truck shuddered and leapt forward, her tiny body not having the weight to hold her to the seat. Gritting her teeth, Wren hung onto the steering wheel with a death grip and stood all her weight on the pedal as the truck smashed through the first of the gates. Seconds later, bullets smacked into the side of the truck, the windshield spider webbing but not shattering as bullets tore through the cab’s wall. Men sprinted to get in front of the truck and Wren showed her teeth in a feral snarl as the guns spat their deadly payloads at her. Once again her dainty statue was in her favour. Bullets tore the upholstery above to her into rags and still she kept her foot planted firmly down. She saw the sudden terror in one man's eyes as she mowed him down, his gaze meeting hers and clearly thinking she wouldn’t run him down.

The next man obviously thought something the same, and died the same way. The second gate fell and Wren felt the truck stall momentarily and knew that she had damaged their rescue vehicle somehow.

Still she plowed on. Gunfire increased and Wren found herself ducking instinctivly but even the stabbing burning pains that erupted in leg, thigh and shoulder weren’t enough to halt her. The Fires of Hell couldn’t have stopped Wren that night.

A flash of moment in the mirror beside her showed an attacker clinging to the side of the truck. Another thump above her told of another attacker on the roof of the truck’s cab. Flicking out the ever present wrist blade, Wren waited until the hand appeared at the shattered window to stab out, catching the appendage and she swerved, causing the one hand gripping the truck to give and the man disappeared into the night. But the hand reaching in from above and grabbing her hair was another matter. The truck swerved wildly again and Wren heard the supplies in the back crash. She couldn’t spare a second to worry about her boys though as she struggled to cut away the hand as it wrenched her back and forth. Moments later and the man was swinging in, feet slamming into the side of Wren’s head and sending her crashing into the foot well. With a vicious foot, he kicked her over and over as he struggled to pull the truck over. But whatever Wren had done to the truck, it resisted his efforts, the engine roaring in the night as it sped faster and faster.

The world was starry from the blows Wren received and she struggled wildly to gain some advantage and somehow managed to sink her knife into his thigh. He screamed and Wren wrenched it out and slammed it back in this time with a savage twist. The fist to her face was a telling blow though and she fell back to crack her head with an audible crunch on the metal door. Her attacker was screaming something out the window as he struggled gamely to stop the truck, turn it, do something, so he didn’t see the fist that appeared through the shattered rear window and slam the short pocket knife into his temple. Wren threw herself up but couldn’t get a purchase in the now wildly jumping truck. Daryl appeared moments later at the door, yanked out the body and slid in, grasping the wheel and yanking it violently to the side and Wren heard and felt the truck buck as it hit something and scrape harshly before freeing itself and smashing through the final gate.

Sounds of walkers being crushed and exploding on the front of the truck were lost to the occupants though.

At the final crash, the door which Wren had been slammed so hard against suddenly gave way and Wren had a second of freefall, in which she saw Daryl reach for her, screaming, his eyes horror-struck, everything was in slow motion as she flew out backwards and hit the ground, her head receiving another vicious blow and she knew no more.


	4. Chapter 4

When Wren finally opened her eyes, she wasn’t really sure what she had been expecting, but a saline IV certainly wasn’t one of those.

Following the clear piping to her arm, she reached over and carefully pulled the plastic from her arm and crooked the limb to stop the bleeding. Flinging the tube away, she pulled herself to a sitting position and wept at the excruciating agony that swept through her, stealing her very breath.

Yanking back the crisp white sheets, she saw that she was clean and dressed in pristine blue medical scrubs. Pulling the thin papery fabric away from her body, she scanned what she could see as tears swamped her view.

What she vaguely remembered as bullets tearing into her were apparently not that bad, as she saw when she peeled off the bandages. All she saw were long deep cuts. Her head throbbed and she could feel old clotted blood knotting her hair when she probed the site of the worst pain. Moving too quickly made everything swim and she was forced to resort to using only one eye to keep her balance. Concussion then.

The rest of her body was covered in bruises, cuts, scrapes, gravel burn, you name it. Moving as stiffly as one of the dead, she maneuvered off the bed and collapsed to the floor in a cry of pain.

A moment later the door swung open and a gruff voice called out that she was awake. Not even looking up, Wren clumsily floundered backwards until she was under the hospital bed and she watched gasping with the screaming fires of agony burning through her as black boots casually came over to the bed.

Moments later, a barbwired baseball bat appeared beside the boots and Wren watched as the legs moved and Negan squatted down to peer jovially through the metal bars at her.

“Hey Little One, you ain’t going anywhere, so why doncha come on out here and join me.”

The voice was conversational and the face friendly, but Wren heard the threat very clearly anyway.

But she didn’t move and after a moment Negan sighed like she had seriously disappointed him but that he wasn’t surprised and he disappeared as he stood up again.

All she heard was “Get her out.” and suddenly hands from all sides were yanking her out. She thrashed and fought, but the world spun and after only a few moments, she slumped defeated as her body betrayed her.

She was ungently shoved into a comfy armchair and Negan tisked at the men handling her.

“Gentlemen, please, show some respect here.” Wren blinked blearily up at the leader of the Saviours, struggling to bring him into view and resorting to squinting at him through one eye. She watched as he waved the men away and settled down on the opposite armchair.

They sat there in silence for a while, Wren breathing and slowly gaining control again and Negan just watching her with a faint smirk on his face, as though life constantly amused him.

As she was finally able to open both eyes, he grinned at her, as though the best bit was coming. He leaned forward, his elbow on his knees and his hands hanging down between his legs as he studied her closely, like a child with a new toy. A shiver rippled up Wren’s back.

“So Little One, I hear that it was you that helped my new friends to leave us. How is it that such a little thing like you sweetheart was able to do that little feat?” He grinned widely and Wren wondered at his level of sanity. At her continued silence, he sighed and slumped back in his chair. With a wave, one of the men placed a tray of food in front of Wren and returned to his spot by the door.

Roast meat, crisp greens and creamy mashed potatoes, all covered in a drizzle of rich gravy sat squarely on a gold trimmed plate. Beside it was fresh crusty bread and yellow butter and a tall glass of water along with two wine glasses filled with red wine.

Wren, her eyes flicking from the mouthwatering food to Negan’s gleeful face, decided fuck it and fell on the food with a silent gasp.

Negan simply sat there in silence as he watched the waiflike creature before him tear into her foot like a starving rat. And she looked like a starving rat too he thought, with her black, blue and green bruised skin, dried blood and various injuries covering her better than the scrubs currently did. She was all skin and bone and sinuous muscles, shoulder length hair and a tiny stature. He guessed she wouldn’t even reach his chest, she was so small. Petite, that's what they called it, like a porcelain doll.

Except he had seen the scars that covered her and knew that anyone who survived those wasn’t as delicate as some damn china doll.

The dichotomy of the girl in front of him interested him deeply and he reveled in the thought of figuring it out, of figuring HER out.

Wren, oblivious to all this, kept her eyes on Negan as she shoveled the still hot food into her mouth, sucking juices from fingers and hands until she could eat no more.

With a cautious look around the room, she caught Negan’s eyes and nodded her thanks, and scowled when he laughed.

“What? Your mother didn’t raise you with manners? Use your words gal!”

Wren scowled deeper at the chuckling man and hunched into her chair. But she saw the warning buried in his gaze and reluctantly raised her chin to show the scar that ran across her throat. Negan quirked an eyebrow and shook his head.

“Tsk tsk sweetie. Now I know you can talk, you were quite the chatterbug when you were sleeping off the hit to your brainpan there.” Wren frown in confusion. She didn’t usually talk in her sleep and Negan looked interested at her confusion.

“Ahh, what’s this? Did I know something you didn’t?” He chortled. Wren decided she had had enough of this man.

“I can talk.” She spoke quietly. The obvious surprise at the sound of her voice, all husky and croaky showed that while he made have heard her, he obviously hadn’t ‘really’ heard her. Meh, lie, bluff, whatever, Wren didn’t care.

It wasn’t like she was going to be here long. In any form.

Settling back into his chair, Wren watched as the strangely charismatic man crossed his legs and rested his hand comfortably on the arms of the chair.

“Well, now that we have established that, lets move on.” Glee shone from the man and Wren merely blinked in response.

“I know you helped the Dixon boys escape my little reeducation rooms, but you couldn't have done that yourself. If you give me the names of those that helped, I’ll be merciful and only kill those instead of 2 for every man you lot killed on your way out.” He grinned at her as though he had just offered her a weekend away at the Local 5 star hotel. Wren simply blinked in response, nothing whatsoever giving anything away and Negan felt the first twinge of uncomfort. After a moment, Wren cocked her head to the side, so much like the bird she was named for.

“Just me.” Was the raspy reply and Negan felt the first stirrings of anger alongside the uncomfort. So he changed tack.

Nodding to her, he waved his hands and pulled a serious look onto his face.

“Sweetie… well I can’t keep calling you pet names, we aren’t that close. Yet” He winked and continued. “Let’s start with Your name.”

After a considering pause Wren blinked again and Negan knew that little trick was going to piss him off real quick.

“Wren.”

After that, Negan didn’t keep her long. Obviously frustrated at her short answers and frankly creepy stare, he finally sent her off and ordered her locked away until he could deal with her again.

This time, Wren was taken to a tiny windowless room, equipped with the sheer basics. Bed, blankets, bucket.

And no Vent.

No wasting time, Wren fell face-first into the mattress on the floor and disappeared immediately into sleep, her body had been screaming at her to cave long before Negan had ordered her away.

And so went the next few days. She would be dragged - literally once, apparently she had run over this one’s friend - in front of Negan, who would feed her, the only meal she got by the way and question her at length. He wanted to know where she was from, why the Dixons were important, who had hurt her, all sorts of random things as well. He also spent time telling her things he thought she might need to know, like how he had ‘saved’ her from the walkers, that it was Carl whose eye had been lost, how he had killed different people from the surrounding areas, trying to get a rise out of her.

She knew what he was trying to do, and honestly, if she had been anyone else, it might have even worked after a while. Stockholm Syndrome is what they used to call it she thought. Pity she was too fucked up to connect to anyone anymore.

But she knew that could go both ways. Especially as he seemed somehow interested in her, not just as a source of information, but her as a person. As though something about her triggered his curiosity. Like many people before him, her broken childlike appearance seemed to trigger something like pity maybe, or a slight protectiveness. Whatever it was, she didn’t do anything to dissuade it.

Once he deemed her healed enough to walk unassisted a little way, he took her on a tour of his little Fiefdom. The Sanctuary was an eye opener, but when they all kneeled down to Negan, Wren felt the disgust fill her. Her friends, her family led without tricks and mind-games and this whole world Negan had going on just made her long for the quiet orderly life of the prison.

It was when Negan beat the head in of someone who had done some infraction, Wren didn’t know why or particularly care, that things started to change.

Negan had had everyone surround the condemned man and did some long winded, egotistical, propaganda thing that had Wren hiding a yawn behind a hand. Finally, with a look at her and a gleam in his eye, Negan pronounced sentence - as though it was going to be anything other than death, the way he had been going on. With a hearty swing, he slammed his bat - Wren refused to call it by that ridiculous name - down onto the skull of the man. Screams erupted from somewhere in the crowd that were quickly hushed, but Wren saw. She saw that Negan thrived on the fear he created. She thought that if noone had reacted like that, he might have done more in order to get that response somehow.

Around her, she watched as men flinched, or glanced away, only a few were stoic. Too many looked on with avarice and in one case, lust. Ew.

Once Negan had finished his little display, he swaggered over to her, grinning maniacally, the bat resting on his shoulder as it dripped blood and brains. The men hustled away the crowds and Wren watched disinterestedly as someone grabbed the heel of one foot and dragged the corpse out.

Negan bounced in front of her like a 5yr old high on sugar. The disgust didn’t show at all on her face, but then neither did anything else other than boredom. She let him chatter his hyperactivity out as she calmly ate her meal and chatted desultory until it was time to go back to her cell.

Only this night, Negan didn’t call anyone to escort her away, but instead lead her to the quarters where he kept his ‘wives’.

It wasn’t until she showed her to an empty room that she realised he meant for her to sleep here and she flinched away, certain that his end game had appeared. She had never felt so naked without her blades since the first day she woke up here.

But with a chuckle at her skittishness he threw himself onto the bed. Slinging his feet onto the clean covers he hooked his hands behind his head and stared at her, that smirk she hated so much stretching his lips wide.

“My beating a man’s head in didn’t phase you one.little.bit, but being alone in here does?” He laughed and patted the bed next to him, but Wren didn’t move a muscle and eventually he sighed and got to his feet.

“Don’t worry about it Sweetie.” He crossed the room and leant down to whisper into her ear. “Everyone comes around eventually.” and ghosted past her, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Wren waited to see if anyone else would be coming in, and finally, as exhaustion nipped at her heels, she dragged off the blankets and made a nest on the floor and fell to sleep.

The next day, she was awakened by shrieking coming from outside her door. Blinking tiredly, she followed the sounds to find two of Negan’s wives in a full blown screaming match.

About her apparently, huh.

Quickly losing interest, because nothing the women were screaming about were ever going to happen, Wren would drown herself with a glass of water before THAT happened, she explored her new ‘abode’.

The main doors were locked from the outside, supposedly for the women’s protection - suure, Wren scoffed privately - but she wasn’t looking for exits of the door or window variety.

Eventually she found the perfect spot.

A vent she had visited before was in the corridor at the back of the Wives Quarters. It was on the opposite side from Wren’s room, but meh, cake walk really. Here the ceiling was close to 12 feet above her, with narrow sheer walls, no bookcases, or handholds to climb. But the rough texture of the old factory walls was something Wren could work with.

With a plan finally in place, she simply waited her chance.

Three days later, it happened.

Negan came storming in, fury radiating from every pore and Wren watched as his wives flocked to him and attempted to soothe the savage beast. Wren nearly chuckled out loud with that thought.

It took a while and Negan slapping one of the women across the face before he settled down in a chair and motioned for Wren to come and sit by his feet. Wren raised an eyebrow and instead sat in the chair opposite him and watched as her usual defiance angered him instead of amusing him. Well well.

After a few minutes of her usual silence and Negan exploded, leaping out of his chair and sending the other women scattering. He stormed back and forth until he turned and strode over to Wren, hauling her up and holding her close to his furious face.

She reacted instinctively. Her hands struck out, breaking his hold on her shirt while her knee rose and nearly caught him in the balls, but he pivoted at the last second and her knee hit his thigh harmlessly. With a backhander, he sent her flying to the floor, but not before spilling over the seat she had just been residing on.

“Your goddamn fucking Dixon blew up my boys!” He raged at her and she carefully wiped at the blood that dripped from her nose. Her heart leapt at the thought that they had gotten away but cruelly shoved the thought away. Since the second she woke up, she hadn’t permitted a single thought of that kind to cross her mind. Once she realised where she was, her life had narrowed to one thing and one thing only and she was now so close she could taste it, the hot coppery blood she dreamt of spilling every night.

She braced herself as he stomped over and laid a boot into her ribs as she lay crouched on the floor. She skidded until she hit the wall and a groan slipped from her lips. Shit, shit. She couldn’t risk another hit like that, not if she wanted to finish this.

She cowered in the corner she had landed in as Negan raged and rampaged around. At one point he had grabbed her by her hair and slapped her around, another time he threatened her with that damn bat, before just resorting to a simple beating.

Finally, he seemed to run out of anger and he crouched by her as she whimpered in a ball.

With a huge sigh and a now gentle hand on her hair, he stroked the strands soothingly.

“Wren Wren Wren, what the fuck am I to do with this shitfest? Time to teach everyone a lesson, remind you all who the FUCKING boss here really is!” He suddenly gripped the back of her head and faster than she could blink, he slammed her head into the floor.

“Let’s see what they do when they see you tomorrow Wren Girl.” With those cryptic words, he paced over to one of the many doors, threw the panel open so hard it slammed against the wall then slammed it back just as hard, the frame shaking from the force. Wren pitied the woman who was to receive Negan’s attentions tonight. But not much.

She lay there until she was sure she was alone. Then, biting a lip to keep the cries back from moving her painful body, she crawled then limped to the rear corridor and stared up at the vent so far above her.

Before it would have been difficult. Now, freshly beaten, she even wondered if she could even do it. But with the moans and cries from the bedrooms filling the place, she knew she didn’t have time.

Placing her hands on one side of the corridor wall, she placed one then the other foot on the opposite wall. Taking a moment to register the strain on her body, she then shifted her hands and feet slowly.

Her abused body was shaking badly by the time her butt brushed the vent and ceiling behind her. Bracing herself with the last of her strength, she pulled one hand off the wall and shoved the vent covering back and with a muscle tearing twisty maneuver, she finally found herself in the safety of the vents. She lay back and let herself caught her breath, and found she had to cover her mouth with both hands to muffle her laughter. Sobering up after a minute or two, she quietly reset the vent cover back into place and let the protective darkness of the buildings inside soothe her and she slept.

Roaring furious shouts woke her with a fright, her heart racing, but quickly settled as she realised her presence had been noticed.

Peering through the vent and down into the corridor, she could just make out Negan standing in the middle of the main room, smashing a chair with his bat as he ordered his men to find her NOW. And Alive because he was going to kill her in front of her precious people and then he would wipe out the entire group.

Wren’s pleasure at thwarting him cooled back to the simmering loathing she had carried since she saw her Merle, tortured and near death laying in a pool of his own blood. Since hearing Daryl weep at the thought of his brother dead. Every word he had spoken, every smile he had given her, had merely fed the bloodlust that grew and festered in her very substance.   
Everytime she remembered that she would never see anyone she loved again, such a tiny group but so important to her, because of this man, her desire to pull his very innards out with her bare hands nearly overwhelmed her.

Now hearing him rage, she felt the surety that the end was near sink deeply into her bones. Her end or his, it was now.  
Wren watched as the two groups faced off. Early the next day, Negan had been called to the front of the factory and Wren had raced to keep up in the ductwork and it was nearly over by the time she found the vent that opened above the two groups.

She could hear Rick ordering Negan to surrender and Negan laughing. She heard one of the leaders from Maggie’s settlement tell Rick that they stood behind Negan not him and she heard Negan taunting Rick and the others. When he had called out to Daryl, asking if the Dixon was also in the crowd after the fun times they had had with him, he followed it up by bragged about how Wren had spread her legs for him before she died. She cursed as she heard the roar of rage filled hate, as someone fell for the con.

The bullets immediately started flying and Wren could feel her chance slipping away.

She watched as the Saviours scattered below her, finding cover as they returned fire, Negan, the narcissistic bastard he was, just stood there firing back.

Wren struck.

Kicking the vent cover out with one powerful blow, she leapt from the duct and caught Negan on her way down, taking him over the railing he stood next to and into the swarm of walkers chained beneath.

She felt something snap, but her focus was all on one man. She pulled out the knife she had stolen and with a prowl that whispered death, she advanced on the dazed leader. He saw her coming though and scrambled to his feet, swinging the bat and daring her on with beckoning fingers and an insane smile.

Her eyes didn’t waver from his for a second. But when he glanced for a split second beside her, her blade sang and the walker that was reaching for her reeled back missing the front of its face and head. Again and again her blade sang around her, yet her eyes never wavered from his.

Her grin grew as his faded. Fear crept into his eyes as he saw the death in hers. Nothing seemed to distract her, not the bullets flying or the walkers reaching ravenous hands, not the bat he swung.

And he swung. But it was as though she anticipated his moves and ducked the deadly wood time and again. He also had to take out any walker that got too close and it was one such moment that her blade kissed his arm, parting the skin as though it was merely water. Fingers numbed and the bat dropped to the floor. Not pausing, he swung a punch out, expecting to meet soft flesh like the previous day, but finding just air instead and a foot in his ribs. He staggered back a step and was pulled another step back by the growling walker. Punching the dead in the head and pushing it away, he turned just in time to dodge a return swing of his own bat.

Wren stood, legs spread as she twirled his bat.

The smile froze his blood.

“Time for a little return on your generous deposit.” She rasped.

And Negan screamed as Lucille smashed into his shoulder.

 

Rick watched as the group from the settlements slowly cut down the Savours one by one. Some of his own fell, but they had pushed back and he watched as the last few of the enemy disappeared back into the factory. Rick nodded to Maggie and they burst out from the protection of the cars and plowed into the dead, walkers and corpses alike. Others were close on their heels.

But Rick and Maggie had one goal. Find Negan. They had seen the blur of someone taking out the man and disappearing into the crowd. Striking at any walker that got close, they battled towards where they last saw Negan.

The scene that greeted them shocked them into a staggering halt.

Negan was on his knees, one shoulder hanging limply, his face a bloody mess, his hands a matching pair of masticated flesh and bones, his shirt torn and bloody. The chained walkers around them were in a frenzy at the smell of fresh meat, but it was nothing compared to the sight of Wren, little Wren standing beside the fallen leader, his bat in her hands and all covered in blood, red and fresh and black and rancid.

Rick heard the wail of the siren that let them know the main herd was on them and he threw a panicked look to Maggie beside him. She spun and raced back off to way they had come and Rick fought his way to his lost friend.

He stabbed a walker out of the way and watched as Wren swung the bat and bury it into Negan’s stomach, causing the man to fold in half and blood gushed from his mouth. Wren simply stepped back, cocked her head in that way that unnerved Rick - hell everyone really - and as he reached her side, she hefted the bat like an axe and drove it down onto the bloody man’s back.

As Rick reached out to grab Wren, he found himself ducking the swinging bloody wood and scrambled back. Looking up in disbelief, he met the eyes of the girl he had come to call family and realised that there was none of the person here anymore. The dead gaze moved back to Negan and he watched the bat swing high again and he knew, as surely as he knew his own name, the next blow would be the killing one.

Before he could move, there was a flash and Daryl was there, yanking the bat from Wren’s hands and crushing her into his arms. She just stood there, her eyes trained on the lump of bloody man at their feet. Another wail sounded and Daryl hollered to everyone to move move move and he swung Wren up into his arms and bolted from the condemned factory.  
Rick made a split decision he hoped wasn’t going to bite him in the ass.

  
As the surviving settlers raced away from the factory, in the rearview mirror Rick watched as the riled up herd descended onto the factory, the charges taking out the protective walls, laying open the sanctuary like a can of tuna for starving feral cats.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Wren sat slumped and unseeing where she had been dumped by persons unknown. Her fingers picked at the scabs, blood and other filth that stuck to her hands, but it was an unconscious movement. All she could see was the playback of Negan falling under her attack, over and over, but every now and then it would be Merle slumped there and she would shiver convulsively. Then the playback would start again.

She was vaguely aware of the sounds and motions of a motor under and around her and occasionally she would get glimpses of people staring at her or hear snippets of them speaking, but it was all so far away and unimportant.

She heard her name being called and suddenly realised that the truck had stopped and people were climbing wearily out around her still figure.

Blinking so very slowly, she tracked the sound of the voice and met the concerned eyes of …. of…. *blink* … shouldn’t she know who that was? The woman clucked and with gentle guiding hands, coached Wren down out of the truck and towards the main swell of people gathered around makeshift pallet beds full of moaning injured people and chairs of the same. Everywhere there were people tending to the wounded, but it all seemed so strange, so wrong somehow to Wren. But with the sight of Negan burned into her mind's eye, battered, bloody, broken, she felt nothing anymore. Just a week - had it really only been a week, no, 8 days - since her world had narrowed to one goal, a goal she never thought she would survive?

Numbly she allowed the woman to lead her to an empty chair and coax her into sitting in it.

Blinking slowly, her face blank, she followed the woman with her eyes as she gathered a bowl of hot water and rags and set them on the table beside them. With gentle voice and hands, the kindly woman washed first Wren’s hands, then face, then everywhere she could reach without removing Wren’s bloodsoaked clothes. Wren, sensing no threat from the woman, allowed her to do as she wished, simply following every movement with her eyes. At one point the woman called over some helpers and with the helpers holding up sheets as privacy curtains, the woman stripped the ruined clothes from Wren’s body, running the dripping cloth quickly over skin before quickly dressing Wren in clean dry clothes again and the helpers quickly bustled off to do the same for others.

A cup was pushed into her hands and Wren looked down at the brown steaming liquid. Hands urged the cup to her lips and she automatically took a sip of the rich broth. Once one mouthful had gone, the rest quickly followed, the mug quickly replaced with another full of the broth.

Wren was holding the now empty mug staring at it blankly when she heard a man’s hoarse voice calling her name. As she blinked slowly and forced her gaze up, she heard the woman tell the man to go easy.

Finally, after what felt like an eon of time, her eyes raised and met blue eyes drowning in hurt and shame. She frowned slightly as she realised that those emotions were for her, for some reason.

Scanning the man’s face, she took in the yellowing bruises and healing splits and cuts on the scruffy face, half hidden by long lanky hair. Cocking her head to the side to study him closer seemed to cause the man pain, as he fell to his knees at her feet and wrap his arms around her legs and sob into her lap.

Automatically her hand lifted and she stroked the greasy strands soothingly. After a while she realised she was crooning softly to the distraught man as he sobbed and sobbed into her once dry clothes. But she didn’t stop. It felt right. For the first time in as long as she could remember, something felt right.

Not right like vengeance had felt. That was simply a truth to be had.

This felt like coming home. Like slipping into old but comfortable shoes, sipping a hot mug of tea in front of a roaring fire. Right. Right to her very soul.

And she could feel the dead part of her, the part that was more than numb, more than paralyzed, stir a little.

But not like how the dead stir. This was like a tree stirring after a long hard winter.

And so she crooned and stroked and crooned and stroked as the tears stopped and the arms fell away and soft snores drifted up to her ears. And still she continued.

At one point, the woman returned and lay a blanket gently over the sleeping man and tucked another around Wren before smiling softly and leaving again.

Wren’s eyes returned to the head on her lap, and she continued stroking for what else in the universe was there for her to do now?

At some point she must have fallen asleep, because when she opened her eyes, night had fallen and the stars above twinkled brightly. Her lap, now cold, told her the man had long gone and a slow glance around her showed her fires burning warmly around the now quiet group of people she found herself in. She watched detachedly as people drifted quietly between the pallet beds and the groups standing watchfully.

But no one was watching her. And something was pulling at her, something she was missing, something important.

She rose from her chair stiffly and let the blankets both drop uncaringly from her body. She shivered slightly in the cooling air but in truth it didn’t register.

Aimlessly she wandered away from the light of the fires, her feet stumbling over grass and rock until they found a worn path and she followed it listlessly, the calling in her mind faint but constant. So she walked. The sky was beginning to lighten when she heard the same man yelling her name frantically and screaming at someone. He sounded really angry, Wren thought dimly. As she rounded the side of the building, her feet still just following the worn path, she saw the man screaming at one of the groups by the fire, his furious voice rousing others. A tall man tried to do something, get his attention Wren thought as she plodded rythmycally along, but the angry man shoved the tall one away and strode over to the group, his fist raised.

Others jumped up to intercept and Wren watched as he was held back.

Suddenly someone pointed at her and all the heads spun to look at her. Still her feet continued their journey on the path. The man broke free and raced to her, scooping her up in a tight breath stealing hug and she remembered someone doing that just recently. Didn’t she?

Everything was so ...murky. But she didn’t feel the need to push this man away, something she instinctively knew wasn’t normal for her. She didn’t fight him when he carried her back to her chair and sat there placidly as he hollarded for someone. When another man suddenly appeared in front of her though and reached for her hands, she reacted wildly. Striking out, she caught the stranger in the hip with a foot and sent him flying to his ass in the grass. She scrambled away from the men, her eyes scanning the immediate area for any kind of weapon. Hard hands caught her attention and she lashed out again, catching the man holding her fair in the chest. She heard him grunt, but he didn’t release her. Instead, he yelled at her to calm down, its safe, doctor. But she was trapped by those eyes again. They stirred something deep in her, something that started to ache, just a bit.

She put her hands on the man’s face. His crying was still visible on his face, swollen red eyes, but she saw past that and she couldn’t stop staring at those eyes.

Everything stopped as she drowned in those eyes. Standing this close, she could smell the man holding her so closely and without thought, she leant in and rested her head on the man’s chest and breathed deeply.

The ache burned as it grew in her chest.

Tears flooded her eyes and she looked up at the man, confusion clear on her face. He groaned and hauled her in for another hug, and the ache blossomed.

The gasp the pain caused turned to a sob and another and Wren stared around in terror, the sobs and tears now uncontrollable and it terrified her. Clutching the man, they both collapsed as she howled into his shirt. Her throat felt scalded as the sobs ripped out but she couldn’t stop.

All of a sudden she needed to get away, she couldn’t breathe, she was suffocating. Flailing wildly, she broke from the embrace and backed away, the sobs still falling from bitten lips. The tall man was also now beside the man, he was talking, talking at her, his own face wet with tears, but she couldn’t make any sense of any of it. The blue eyed man was reaching for her, but it was the reappearance of the kind woman that changed everything.

She simply walked over, grabbed Wren’s hand, hauled her off the ground and led her away. Gasping sobs still fell from Wren’s lips, she gasped hard to try to fill leadened lungs and still they walked, no words being said.

Then they were in front of a door, then in a corridor and finally they were standing at a closed door. The Kind woman opened the door and gently pushed Wren through.

There wasn’t much in the room. A chair that had a crumpled blanket as though someone had just risen and would be back momentarily. A chest of drawers covered in strips of fabric and bowls. A bed with an occupant under the thick blankets. Feeling a hand push her forward, her sobs still falling quietly but constantly, Wren stepped towards the bed. Another step and the occupant came into view.

A badly injured man lay on the bed, his face swollen and bruised to the point that she could barely make out his features. A heavily bandaged arm lay on the blankets, the sight causing Wren to drop to her knees.

At the sound of the thump, the man stirred and the arm raised slightly as though he was shifting. A pained groan told her he was. At the sound of the groan, the pain in her exploded and she folded in half, clutching at her chest, sure that she had just been stabbed.

The sound of her near silent wails echoed in the bare room and the man on the bed froze. Wren, bowed over and curled into a ball, didn’t see the man as he raised his head from his pillow to look at the kind woman, who nodded down at Wren. A searching hand fell down and brushed her hair once twice then gripped it yanking her up.

Rearing up in fright, her eyes met blue eyes. Blue eyes. Not the blue of the other man, not quite. These were richer, bloodshot but so so familiar that it was like someone reached down into her very soul and flicked a switch. Not noticing the tugging on her hair, she stared into the blue eyes that seemed to mean all the universe and beyond to her somehow. Closer and closer the eyes came, until they were practically nose to nose. Both of them silent except for Wren’s panting sobs. As she stared into those eyes, his breath drifted across her face and she was plunged into a maelstrom of emotions and memories.

***************************************************************

  
When she came to herself again, she discovered she was clutching Merle tightly, her arms and legs wrapped around any part she could reach and laying on top of him. Her head was tucked firmly under Merle’s chin and both of his arms were so tightly around her she wondered at her ability to breathe. It took her a little while to realise she was under his blankets and pressed up solidly against his naked body boots and all. Her sobs had petered away, leaving gritty eyes and snotty nose and still he held her. She could now hear his own voice weeping softly as he clutched her to him. Kisses were raining down onto her hair and she heard him start to apologise and no, she couldn’t deal with that, it was too soon! She whipped up a hand and slammed it down on his mouth, silencing what she couldn’t hear right now. The blow caused the man under her to shudder and moan and Wren slowly removed her hand as she leaned back to look at Merle in the gentle morning light. Seeing the extensive injuries, she threw herself off… well attempted to, but the arms banding around her hardened impossibly and the cursed groan told her she was hurting him more by struggling. Freezing, she stared down terrified at her once-mate, keeping her weight off him as much as he permitted.

“Please Birdie, please, I jus’ need ta hold ya, so much baby. Please.” The pleas were soft, whispered and like a dagger to her tender heart.

Reluctantly Wren lowered herself down until she was back on top of the older man and was quickly and surely tucked back under his chin and there she lay as she listened to Merle cry his own pain and relief.

At some point she had fallen asleep to the sounds of his tears and now she slowly awoke, warm and comfortable as she lay tucked in tight beside the also sleeping Dixon.

Feeling her bladder complaining, she fought the restraining arm and escaped the bed and went off in search of a working bathroom. She heard the bellows long before she was back on the corridor to Merle’s room and was almost to the door when a large body burst out and slammed into her, catching her as she stumbled and fell backwards.

Daryl with wild eyes and a furious mouth, shook her then enfolded her in an enveloping hug and Wren wondered if this was going to be the way it was now on. Her boys were not touchy-feely people regardless of how much she hung off them so to be the recipient of so many fierce embraces was quite unsettling to be honest.

But before she could either return the hug or push him away, another bellow shook the walls.  
Daryl bellowed just as loudly back.

“Jesus Christ Merle, she’s here okay! Shut the fuck up already!!”

Merle was sitting on the edge of his bed, bloodshot eyes staring angrily at the door, his fist white with stress on the bedside him. Only the corner of the blanket protected his modesty and Wren knew he could care buggerall if he had to storm about stark naked looking for her if he had too.

Wren took in Merle’s appearance with objective eyes. Considering the last time she saw him, he had looked like a 2 week old walker, the fact that he was a matching bookend to her was a great relief. White bandaging wrapped heavily around his ribs and stump as well as both knees. His jaw looked swollen and Wren guessed that maybe his jaw was dislocated at best, broken at worst. Both eyes were completely bloodshot and his nose was like a balloon in the middle of his face.

He looked so good.

Shaking, with fear or relief Wren didn’t know, she stepped closer and closer to the battered man and laid a gentle hand on the side of his face, caressing the bruised flesh so softly. Laying her forehead on his, she unknowingly mimicked the very position Daryl had seen them together last, and he had to leave the room as his own emotions overwhelmed him.

Not really registering the younger Dixon’s exit, Wren brought her other hand up and cupped both sides of her mate’s face and there they stayed, breathing in each other’s comforting scents as Merle drew her in to stand between his legs and wrapped his arms back around her waist.

When Merle flinched and then flinced again, Wren leaned back concerned that she was somehow aggravating his injuries and saw instead that there were tears on his face. But she knew immediately that they weren’t his when his hand rose to gently brush his thumbs under her eyes.

His lips parted, paused and closed again and Wren placed her own fingers on them, making sure to avoid the crusted splits.

She shook her head but, deep down, she knew had to do it now, she had to know. Now that the daylight was streaming through the window and Merle was alive and right in front of her, in all his mangled glory and safe, she had to know.

But when she opened her mouth, nothing came out and like him, she paused and sighed.

“God Birdie, I knew ya weren’t … but…” Merle’s voice croaked to rumbling cracked stop and he swallowed hard and dropped his head to her breastbone, his arms tightening around her. She grabbed the back of his hair and tugged gently. He looked back up, his eyes full of unshed tears and sorrow. “I’m so sorry Wrennie…”

“You hurt me bad HillBIll.” Was her whispered reply and she felt the words hit Merle as though each one was a blunt dagger striking the man. His lips pressed tightly together and Wren saw his chin wobbling as he nodded the truth of her words.   
“That I did. No excuses Art and I’m real ashamed I did that. Ya’re the last person on this goddamned earth that deserved that shit.” The truth was clear in Dixon’s eyes as one tear escaped and ran down the side of his face and onto her fingers still buried in his hair.  
“I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to ya, even if it takes the rest of my useless life to do it.”

Wren felt her own tear escape and run down her cheek and she shook her head.

Misreading her movement, Merle’s eyes darkened and he gasped in pain and clutched her tighter to him, as though she was about to be ripped away forever. The blood ran from his face and Wren panicked as his eyes glazed over as he panted as though he couldn’t catch his breath.

Using the hand still in his hair, she shook his head but could see nothing was getting through the panic he seemed to be in.

So she kissed him.

What started as a hard press of lips meant to distract him, quickly flared into an almost violent kiss as the emotions of the past month flared between them.

It was only the cross exclamation from the doorway that broke them apart panting hard.

Carol stood there with hands on hips and a fierce frown on her face, hands pressing hard to her hips.

“Oh my god you two!! Neither of you are anywhere near well enough for that! Now, cut it out or I’ll be sending Wrennie to another room.”

The twin looks she received at that threat would have terrified anyone else and to be honest, Carol felt a shiver run down her spine. Hiding it well, she bustled into the room and in her best mothering mode, got the two settled back into the bed with a pointed look and a stern warning to rest! Nothing else.

She checked them both over, checking bandages and wounds until finally she was done and so were her exhausted patients. Calling out the door for a tray of food, she watched as the tiny woman and her brawny love settle down into each other’s arms, whispering softly and she knew that they would work it out, eventually.

 

And they did.

It was a solid 2 weeks until Merle was even close enough to being well enough to be allowed out of bed, Wrennie not actually any better off.

Wren had succumbed to a fever and cough a few days after her return which had resulted in a petrified Merle hollering for the Doc. It necessitated Wren being placed in her own bed, but at both the Dixon mens insistence, a new bed was found and wedged into Merle’s room so that they could keep a close eye on her themselves.

It was a long week for the nurses at Kingdom. Merle was more surly and insulting than normal, so much so that Wren even in her delirium noticed and snapped at the Dixon to cut it out and Daryl cursed his brother out for upsetting her.

But eventually Wren healed enough to return to Merle’s bed and everyone breathed a deep sigh of relief.

Once Wren was feeling well enough, Carol and Michonne were bullied into helping get both the invalids outside into the sunshine and watched, touched, as both survivors sat in the sun, eyes shut and heads back as they soaked in the healing rays.

After that, it seemed as though their healing sped up and every day after that, they could be found outside for most of the mornings and afternoons, only returning when the days shadows started to grow.

It was one such lazy day that Wren noticed a group of people watching them from the other side of the park area. Squinting in the bright light, Wren was able to make out several people surreptitiously glancing their way and whispering agitatedly amongst themselves.

It was the flash of blond hair that told Wren who it was and she felt a chill run her spine. At noticing her interest, the group scurried away towards Ezekiel's place, throwing venomous glares back at her and Wren gnawed on her lip. She wasn’t at all scared of that pathetic group, after all, they had needed rescuing from their own people they had outnumbered, so no threat at all to Wren. But she was worried that they would bring trouble to the generous Kingdom community who had done much to help them heal, especially Merle.

For Merle had literally been on Death’s door by the time Daryl had shown up at Kingdom after their rescue.

Wren had indeed damaged the truck’s brakes in her escape and Daryl had been only just able to keep the truck from crashing until it finally ran out of fuel a few miles from Kingdom. After it had wheezed to a stop, Daryl had then hauled the deadweight of Merle for a while until a Watch Team found them and raced them back to Kingdom and sent for Rick. Both Dixon’s had crashed and slept, Daryl for nearly 3 days and Merle almost a week.

When Daryl had woken, he had raged at anyone and everyone to get back and rescue Wren, but had been point-blank refused. Earlier he had been trapped in a nightmare and had been screaming for Wren and when he had been shaken awake, told how he had lost her when she tumbled out of the truck into the mess of walkers. After that, the looks of sadness and pity that crossed everyone’s faces when they looked at him told of their beliefs to the situation of the brave little Wren. When Merle had roused and groggily asked for Wren, he hadn’t believed a word of her supposed death. Especially after he heard of his own rescue by his little Bird.

The group from the Prison knew that neither of the Dixon’s would accept the death of their Wren without seeing it for themselves and knew that as soon as they were able, both men would head off themselves. Until then, they were difficult at best, downright infuriating at worst. Added to that usage of always rare medical supplies and food meant that their debt was high.

So Wren was justifiably worried when she saw the group scurry off and fidgeted in her chair until Merle snapped at her to quit her fussing. She glared at the craggy face of her mate until he raised a daring eyebrow at her. Refusing to rise to the bait and give him the fight he was obviously itching for - Dixons didn’t ‘do’ patience or patient well at all and Wren knew the inactivity was eating at the older Dixon - she turned her back and went back to gnawing on her thumbnail.

But no-one came. Instead, later that day a truck pulled up to the lower gates and Wren watched in astonishment as the group was hustled onto the transport, clearly furious with the situation.

Wren was gobsmacked as the group yelled and carried on as their bags and belongings were tossed on the truck, followed by themselves.

Wren could make out snatches of the yelling and felt herself both cringe in shame and burn with fury as the group blamed Wren for the whole thing, how they could chose an animal like that over decent folk, etc, until the truck finally rumbled out of the gates and disappear.

Merle had not noticed anything as he dozed in his chair - his wounds were still quite serious and would take a long while to heal - and missed the exchange and Wren decided that it was the last thing the injured man need to worry about.

But it ate at her slowly, like acid dripping drop by sluggish drop. The deeply set fears Wren had, of her brokenness and weirdness, were triggered anew by the exchange and remembrance of Merle’s betrayal and they churned and bubbled and it wasn’t long before her dispiritedness was noticed.

Merle noticed it first and worried at his little love, but she simply gave him her crooked little smile and shook her head and looked away. Unconsciously she started to pull away from Merle and when he responded with snark and frustration, she responded by pulling further into herself, sure that she was right about Merle’s true feelings.   
Daryl had cornered Merle one morning when Wren was off showering and demanded to know what was wrong and was pissed when Merle didn’t have an answer.

Assuming it was about what had happened after they had escaped, both Dixons were uncertain how to approach it at all. So they turned to treating her with kid-gloves, gentle and considerate, thinking to give her the space they thought she was wanting. Wren in turn, saw it as Merle breaking away and Daryl being unable to hurt her by telling her the truth.

Finally, in a near panic, Daryl turned to Carol for advice.

Once Carol heard the situation, she hunted out the now almost healed Wren and tracked her down to a sunny spot by a small pond, where the tiny woman was staring brokenly into the dark water.

Quietly Carol sat by the silent girl and gently took the hand that seemed so fragile and birdlike, yet could do the things Carol knew well.

Not waiting Carol spoke softly to the waters in front of them instead of the withdrawn Wren.

“Back when this all started, when Ed was alive, I was this weak, pathetic woman who needed to be rescued and looked after. That woman died when it got too tough and I was glad. Because I thought you had to be hard to survive. Now I understand that hard can be too hard, too hard and you become brittle and break. Wrennie hun, you don’t have to be too hard, sweetie. You can let us be your softness when you need. Me, Rick, Michonne, Daryl, we are all here for you. I know you and Merle have a very special bond, one that many of us wish we had. Lean on him Wrennie, he wants to be your softness so much sweetie, he’s so worried...”

Wren looked up at Carol, her face blank and Carol wondered if she had even registered anything Carol had said.

But a moment later, she was rocking a distraught Wren as she sobbed her strange husky cry and soaked Carol’s shoulder.

It took a long time before Carol could understand what was wrong. Even though Wren wasn’t completely mute, she would always struggle to talk to others Carol knew, so she didn’t push and accepted what little Wren could say.

It was enough.

Leading the now exhausted Wren back to her bed and tucking her in, she then tracked down the Dixon brothers and choosing her words carefully, she laid out the truth she knew one of them in particular would struggle to hear.

And she had been right.

Merle’s face had ashened when he learned of Wren’s depression. Hearing that it was him that helped it grow was like a knife to the gut. That his Wren, his beautiful, brave, strong Birdie thought so little of herself and that he had so thoughtlessly encouraged it… he welcomed the anger he felt at himself, at those that whispered and stared at her and he knew he would do all in his power to fix what he could.

And that started with getting her home. He had known she was only truly comfortable at their Prison home, surrounded by those that welcomed and accepted his mate. He ordered Daryl to organise it immediately and in the meantime, it was time for a little chat with his thick little love.

Carol, seeing the mulish set to the ex-marine’s face, caught his good arm and hissed at him.

“Merle Dixon, you treat that girl gently, she’s broken right now.”  
But Merle’s shook her off and glared at the other woman.  
“Ya know sumthin’? I’ve been gentle with ‘er and lookit where it got me. Time for a little home truths.” Carol stared after the man as he limped away on his crutches and wondered if she hadn’t just made it all so much worse…

Daryl had gone straight to Ezekiel and requested a car to take them home immediately. Ezekiel shocked by the abrupt nature of the demand had gently questioned the upset man and in the manner of all good leaders, understood what was NOT being said.

Merle had headed straight to their rooms, slamming the door angrily closed behind him and startling the sleeping woman awake. He smirked as she sprang upright, her blade already in her hand and ready for use.

Wren blinked at Merle standing by the closed door and breathed a sigh as she shoved the knife back under her pillow and glaring at the grinning Dixon, settled back into her bed with a pointed huff.   
But she wasn’t to be left alone as she thought.

With a suddenness that had her gasping, her blankets were ripped from the bed, spinning her on the soft mattress. Staring up in shock, she watched as Merle threw the blankets aside and stomped to her bed, yanking her up by her forearm.

Just as her mind kicked into gear and she was about to strike out, Merle dropped his ass to the bed and pulled her tightly into his lap, her legs on one side and her back braced against his bandaged stump. She went to wriggle away, and gasped again as Merle’s arm tightened around hyer almost painfully. She found his hand under her chin, forcing her eyes up to meet his for the first time in days he realised.

“I’m sick of this shit girl! Time we had it out, once and for all!” He growled and the sound sent a shiver of awareness shooting up her spine. She found that she couldn’t look away from his furious eyes, not for a second.

“You’re gunna listen, and listen good! I fucked up, royally with that skank and you and I both know it. But you listen to me, that’s all on me and nothing to do with you. It was me being a fucking rednecked arsehole who never grew up. Some pretty slut waved her tits in ma face and my dumbass brain just let it.” Wren struggled now, not wanting to hear this, not wanting to hear Dixon explain just how much of a failure she was. But the pinching fingers on her chin and the furious snarl stilled her and drew her back to the fuming man holding her.   
“Tha’s what I’m fuckin talking about Wren! Stop it! Stop thinking you know what Imma gonna say, you stupid bitch!”   
Wren snarled at his insult and Merle rolled his eyes and then leaned in close, so close his nose brushed hers.  
“Wrennie, My Wrennie, how can you not know how much I love you girl?” His voice had dropped to a whisper. “When everyone told me you had been the one to rescue me and Darylina, I jest about burst knowing that you was mine. When they told me that you had died back there, I refused to accept it. No woman, hell no person who had done all those things to get us out would just lay there and become geek chow! Especially not My Wren! Fuck that shit!”

He looked at his love and saw that she was staring at him, wide eyed and shocked, her breath coming in little gasps as she waited to hear the rest and his felt his heart literally beat harder with the emotion that was building there.

“You’re so strong baby girl, so bloody beautiful. Every day that I wake up and see ya lying nexta me, I wonder what the everloving fuck I ever did to deserve a girl like you. When everyone else gives up, you step up and show them how it's done. Gives me a goddamn hardon every time. Jesus Christ Birdie, I love you so much girl! If I thought for one second that you thought anything else…” Merle choked on the words as the emotion finally hit, filling his eyes with tears and he stared down at his Wren, willing her to understand everything he was saying and not saying.

Wren had stopped struggling and was staring up at Merle, shock keeping her completely still. In all their time together, never had the tacturn Dixon ever shared his emotions like this and truth be told, she wasn’t sure what to do with it. So she stared up silently, taking in the pure emotion that was clear on his face.

“Wrennie, I love you, I love every single piece of you. No one and nothing will ever matter to me as much as you do. I’m so sorry that I made you doubt that even a bit. So I’m gonna spend the rest of my days making sure you know that. Ya hear me?” He shook her slightly and she nodded slowly, her expression slightly glazed and Merle couldn’t hold back.

He pulled her up and crushed his lips to hers, drawing in her gasp and teasing her lips with his tongue until she opened her mouth and allowed him entrance once more.

He turned around and lay her on the bed, stretching out beside her as he kissed her with all the emotion and love he had for his little Wren and finally, finally she believed him. Tears flowed and when Merle panicked at the sight, thinking that she was upset, she laughed and drew him down once more, telling him in her own way just exactly how she felt too.

Merle spent the next hours worshiping and whispering his love over every part of Wren’s shivering body until she was without a single doubt of his devotion to her. Cleansing tears were also shed and then it was only murmurs and cries and moans to be heard.

After they had emerged, Wren smiling her crooked smile and Merle with his shit-eating smirk, Daryl and Ezekiel had joined them in the late afternoon sun.

Ezekiel, piercing straight to the point, after a few confirming questions that had Wren shrinking a little, to Merle’s frustration and ever quick temper, had explained that the group had indeed come to him to demand certain things and lay complaint about the assault Wren had committed. Before the Dixons could jump to Wren’s defense, Ezekiel had halted their explosive outbursts with a warning glare and went on to explain that Wren wasn’t the only one who had had such issues. Although she was the only one to response with blade and fists though. That caused Merle to grin that self satisfied shiteating grin once more and Wren rolled her eyes and elbowed him, gently of course. Although the other half of the situation was usually spoken to as well, Ezekiel added that he felt that had been already taken care of and that such a ‘conversation’ wouldn’t have to be had. He laid a speaking stare at the older Dixon. Merle reddened and blustered until Wren laid a gentle hand on his cheek and he subsided immediately and sank down to kiss the breath from his love once more.  
Ezekiel told how the group was not settling in to Kingdom as well as they should so had been told that they would be taken to a new settlement that was forming and that it was a chance to start afresh. With the unspoken warning that none of the other settlements were interested in having members with so little regard for the life of a community and its people.

Soon after, Ezekiel ended the conversation by letting them know that a trading run was happening the next morning and that room had been made to transport the three back to the Prison.

It was a sleepless night for Wren, as she waited for daylight to peek over the treeline and start the day that took her home.

Merle watched as she fluttered around their room, packing their meager belongings. Making sure she had checked Merle’s injuries and then again and again until laughing at her, Merle pulled her to him and distracted her in the best way he knew how.

So it was no surprise to either Dixon that 10 mins into the long drive found Wren curled up in Merle’s lap, her hands tucked under her chin like the child she was often thought to be as her head rested on his thigh. Merle looked down at the miracle that was Wren and lovingly stroked the now long strands, for once not caring that others saw him like this. Soft and vulnerable. Because she was worth it, worth it all and he was damned and determined to make sure that everyone knew it, especially the one that believed it the least.

 

* * *

 ~*~ Epilogue ~*~

  
That wasn’t to say their story was now all happily ever after. After all, this was real life and the Apocalypse to boot and let’s face it Wren was different, even in a time when everyone had battle scars and Merle was and would always be a redneck arsehole that took distinct pleasure in pissing people off.

But he was Wren’s redneck arsehole and she was his different Wren and they loved with other with a love and a passion rarely ever seen. Was it all smooth sailing? Of course not, but no matter the storms that hit, no matter the fights life threw at them all, they stayed strong and true and their love flourished.

 

 


End file.
